


Letters from the Lunch Club

by MrRhapsodist



Category: The Crown (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Marriage, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25713940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRhapsodist/pseuds/MrRhapsodist
Summary: Eileen Parker, former wife to the Duke of Edinburgh's equerry, recalls two loves that she never revealed to the world, and with good reason.
Relationships: Eileen Parker/Lily (The Waitress), Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom/Eileen Parker
Kudos: 27





	Letters from the Lunch Club

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this up a couple of months ago, having rewatched _The Crown_ all the way. And there's an understated dynamic in the second episode of Season 2, where Eileen meets Lily the waitress, who gives her Michael's letters, and I kept thinking, "Why don't _they_ stay together...?"
> 
> The rest wrote itself. I would've liked to made this longer with more dialogue, but this was all my inspiration offered so far. Hope you enjoy it!

Eileen Parker, née Allan, had often enjoyed a cordial relationship with the future Queen of England. Back when she was the wife of Michael Parker, the Duke of Edinburgh’s equerry, and Elizabeth was Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Edinburgh. Often they spent their time between Clarence House in gloomy old London, where Charles and Anne were being raised, and Villa Guardamangia on the isle of Malta. While Phillip and Mike were off gallivanting on some rowing expedition or naval exercise together, Elizabeth would invite Eileen over for tea and dismiss the staff for an afternoon.

It soon became apparent that the two women had something deeper between them than the careers that brought their husbands together.

It all began so innocently. A whispered apology here, sitting closer together on the chaise-lounge, awkwardly offering to brush the stray crumb of a scone from one’s lips, and lingering ever so long when their eyes would meet.

Eileen took the first kiss. She knew it wasn’t right, let alone proper. Her Royal Highness ought to have made the first move, but she didn’t dare. She let her friend draw her in close, and their hands slid beneath woolen blouses and silk chemises. The little noises Elizabeth would make when Eileen nuzzled the side of her neck, and the giggle she’d make into the Princess’s skin brought out other laughs.

One night, while Phillip and Michael were spending a night on a Royal Navy flagship after a long day’s inspection, Eileen received an urgent summons to Guardamangia. She wasted no time. No sooner had she come through the door than Elizabeth had pressed her against the wall and kissed her hard on the lips.

Breathless, dazzled, Eileen submitted to whatever her mistress desired. She knew she’d awoken something inside the other woman. So what if she had children of her own? So what if this was never going to last? She’d seize every chance she could get.

And she’d start by seizing Elizabeth’s hair and sighing into her neck like always.

* * *

It didn’t last. George VI passed away in February of 1952, while Elizabeth and Phillip were on a Commonwealth tour in his name. Michael had to break the news to the royal couple. He had to prepare Elizabeth for the crown she’d now inherited.

Elizabeth hadn’t written to Eileen about their time together in Malta. Too many eyes would be watching her correspondence now.

When summoned, Eileen kissed her new monarch’s hand and held back all her tears. She thought she saw the Queen’s eyes mist over as well, but she couldn’t be sure.

* * *

It was the five months’ separation, courtesy of Phillip’s world tour on the HMS _Britannia,_ that broke things up again. Michael was off gallivanting as usual, getting into affairs with every local girl he laid eyes on. Eileen knew it. She’d always known, even if he never admitted it or made a joke instead. She’d done her best to shield the children, but night after night, her bed stayed cold, and wherever he found himself was assuredly warmer.

She found Lily, a waitress at the Thursday Club, where Michael often wrote to his colleagues about his exploits abroad. Lily was blonde and demure, not wanting to cause any trouble. Afraid to lose her job. And why wouldn’t she? Eileen knew how hard the world was on unmarried women. Why else had she clung to Michael so early on?

But it took several meetings. At cafés and pubs, during Lily’s lunch breaks, she’d arrive with letters. Offer her help on the side with Eileen’s crusade for a divorce. And, sometimes, when the fog was heavy outdoors, she’d sit in Eileen’s kitchen, drinking tea, and Lily would listen. She’d never demand or argue. And there was no tiptoeing around subjects the way Eileen would have done with Her Majesty back in Malta.

On one summer evening, the children were staying at a friend’s house in Southwark. Eileen had the house to herself. She was delighted to hear the doorbell ring. Even more so when she opened it, finding Lily outside in a soft beige coat and skirt, with a bottle of wine in hand.

They found a peace that Eileen had been missing since those halcyon days in Malta. When the war was over and the coronation was a long way off, and there was only her and Elizabeth. But that woman was gone now. Replaced by a crown and a throne that no mere mortal could befriend. Not in the way she and the Princess Elizabeth had once been. No, with Lily, things were simpler. Honest. Snuggling up beside the fireplace, sipping wine together, and teasing fingers through each other’s hair.

Lily hadn’t shown any initiative—not until she was shown Eileen’s bed. But once she was pulled on top, she found her passion, showering Eileen with kisses and a few lashings of the tongue that made her red-faced and giddy. The way they bucked and slid against each other, moaning softly since one never knew who might be listening. The neighbors had been bad enough, snooping around Eileen when news of her divorce broke. Heaven forbid they come across her own affair with a waitress from her husband’s lunch club.

But Lily was a darling nonetheless. And if they couldn’t be honest in public, they could be friends in truth. She became an aunt of sorts to Eileen’s children, a flatmate and a friend to Eileen, and a secretary beyond the drudgery of cleaning after Thursday Club members. No one would slap her bottom anymore. Not without earning a good scolding from Eileen herself. And what they got up to the bedroom, long after the children were asleep, was their own business, thank you very much.

For once, Eileen was grateful to no longer be attached to the Royal Family. Fewer eyes were on her day by day. No reporters bothered to sniff around her borough.

At night, she dreamt of Malta. It’d been so beautiful. Now, only a memory, tainted by the fallout of her divorce and the men from Buckingham Palace checking up on her private life, all to protect Phillip’s reputation. But she had Lily, and she had her children. Eileen would sit in her kitchen, pouring tea with her beloved, and she decided she’d prefer this modest time to the glamour of Malta and the palace.

She remembered the misty eyes of her monarch, from that day in Kenya when the news of her father’s passing broke. But Eileen Allan would not be moved. She had let her go, and in doing so, she’d found herself again.


End file.
